


The Green Hunter

by MuseofWriting



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, diverges after d-stabilized, hints of both valerie/danny and sam/danny but not enough for a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 06:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8390335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuseofWriting/pseuds/MuseofWriting
Summary: When a new ghost hunter suddenly appears in Amity Park, she sets off a chain of events that sends things spiraling out of Danny's control. As a town determined to escape the ghosts that have plagued it for years turns on their controversial superhero, Phantom and Valerie must both weigh their own morality against the dangers of old enemies, while Vlad sets a plan in motion that will mean Amity Park can never be the same.Or: an alternative series finale





	1. First Inklings

**Author's Note:**

> I watched Danny Phantom for the first time about a year ago, and when I saw Phantom Planet, I was (like everyone else in the fandom, I think) pissed and disappointed. So, in the wake of that, I decided to essentially write my own finale for the series. Et voilà.

            It started with the Box Ghost.

            “Don’t you ever stay in storage?” Danny asked, arms crossed, legs a wisp of smoke beneath him, rising up behind the ludicrously self-important ghost as it terrorized a late-night dog walker with an old beer crate.

            He had been bulling his way through math homework when his ghost sense sent a familiar chill through him, and halfway through the transformation when he heard a strained “Beware!” in the distance. He had almost dropped the transformation and gone back to the math homework. Unless the Box Ghost had broken into Pandora’s place again, Danny was tempted to let him chuck some storage boxes around for the night and deal with it in the morning, if at all. He had work to do, and the recent fight with Vlad, not to mention getting electrocuted by Valerie, had left him sore and low on energy still. But a chilly white ring was already passing his eyes, and besides, it was cool and clear, a beautiful night for flying. So out the window he went, taking a moment to enjoy the scenery, meandering towards the sound of ghostly ineptitude.

            “BEWARE! I AM THE–” the Box Ghost said, spinning in mid-air towards Phantom. Danny rolled his eyes and, with an air of immense boredom, finger-gunned an ectoblast towards him that struck the ghost in the chest, spinning him head over heels backwards through the air.

            “Yeah, thanks, I heard you the first three million times. Can’t you ever, like, change up your theme? Keep it interesting? Couldn’t you be the Closet Ghost for a month or something?” He was aggravating the ghost – he should really just suck him into the thermos and be done with it – but these days Danny found the Box Ghost about as intimidating as an especially large frog and fighting him no more interesting than the homework he’d left behind. He’d just enjoy the cool night air a few minutes longer. Or maybe the Box Ghost would have the sense to run off and Danny wouldn’t have to bother stuffing him in the thermos and sneaking downstairs to release him into the Ghost Zone.

            As the ghost took in a breath to shout his unintimidating “Beware” again, he suddenly stopped. There was a moment of surprise in his face, and then he was abruptly sucked backward and away from Danny, who stared at the place he had been. He swept his gaze across the ground, looking for Tucker or Sam, although why they would have thought he needed help handling the Box Ghost was beyond him. It couldn’t have been his parents: they didn’t exactly grasp the concept of sneaking up on a ghost. There was a flash of movement, the electric _whoosh_ of an ecto-powered engine, and he spotted Valerie. No, not Valerie. This woman was slightly taller, with a narrower build, and dressed in bright green splashed with streaks of black. But she had a hoverboard like Valerie, a suit like Valerie, and apparently her own version of a Fenton thermos. Another ghost hunter, also financed by Vlad? Or a copycat?

            The woman’s gaze lifted towards him, and Danny turned and sped away. No reason to get into a fight with some random ghost hunter whose abilities he didn’t know. He could investigate her later, when he was human and she wouldn’t consider him a threat.

            That was the beginning.

 

—————

 

            Valerie sat straddling her hoverboard, looking over Amity Park. There was homely beauty to the flickering of lights in people’s homes. She liked watching it, feeling the warmth of security in day-to-day life. And yet it made her oddly homesick. She missed being one of those people, having it better than most of those people, when “ghosts” were still freak accidents that happened to other people. But even if she could have gone back, it would have felt hollow. Ghost hunting was part of her now, as integral as her love for her father or the sheer stubbornness of will that had gotten her through those first couple weeks of near-homelessness.

            She gripped the side of her board tightly. She was getting distracted again. She _wanted_ to get distracted. It had been two weeks now, and she had done nothing, said nothing, made no decisions. She kept telling herself that she just needed time to think and plot a course of action, but that excuse was wearing thin as the days stretched into weeks and she had nothing to show for all of her “thinking.” It was just… what exactly was she supposed to do?

            Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of an ectoblast and tensed, ready to hop on her board and zoom down there. She scanned the area and abruptly a familiar black and white figure went sailing into the sky, clutching its stomach. Some nasty green thing – vaguely hippo-like, Valerie thought, if she’d had to categorize it – was flying up after it. Phantom flipped over himself, going intangible right before he got rammed broadside, passed straight through the hippo, and spun around dexterously shooting a fist of green energy towards the surprised rump sailing away from him. Valerie hesitated, but then settled back onto her board. She didn’t feel like tangling with Phantom tonight, as an enemy or an ally. She had enough of that ambiguity to sort through right now.

            Two weeks. She’d flown out of Vlad’s basement with one goal in mind: catch and destroy Vlad as soon as she was in a more advantageous position. He was part ghost, clearly evil, and he had tricked her. Valerie was revving up to give him a fight he wouldn’t forget for a long time.

            That confidence had withered almost the moment she had landed back home. She had hopped off her hoverboard, pulled off her backpack to put it away and – stopped. Vlad. Vlad was the reason she had that backpack. Vlad was the one who supplied her with the suit, the weapons, repairs and replacements when her equipment was damaged, _everything_. She didn’t have the money to do it herself, nor did she have the faintest idea who to even ask if she could pay. The Fentons, the Guys in White, every other ghost hunter she had ever met were hopelessly inept. Granted, the Fentons invented some good technology on occasion, but they were all prototypes, rarely if ever for sale, and often just as prone to blow up in your face as the ghost’s. If she took down Vlad, it could very well signal the end of her ghost-hunting career.

            Phantom had gotten thrown through the window of an office building and Valerie winced sympathetically. Some of those ghosts packed a nasty punch. She’d accumulated so many scars in the past year that she’d already begun to forget what some of them came from.

            She had wondered several times over the past two weeks if she wasn’t missing some piece of the puzzle. Granted, what she had heard sounded pretty evil, and half the time she scoffed at herself for grasping at straws. But the other half of the time she was, well, grasping at straws. He was her benefactor, the man who had shown her kindness when no one else would, given her the strength to fight back when she was at rock bottom, and she felt nothing but gratitude from the bottom of her heart for that, but she didn’t really _know_ him. He wasn’t her friend – but then again, he’d proven a better friend than Paulina and Star and the other A-listers.

            Dammit, she _wanted_ to believe in him. She _wanted_ there to be an explanation.

            Maybe half ghosts were different. Maybe this was some kind of ghostly curse and the whole reason why he wanted to hunt ghosts in the first place. Maybe anything. The problem, Valerie thought, tapping her fingers restlessly against her board as Phantom ice-blasted the hippo into the pavement, destroying two or three streetlamps along the way, was that she couldn’t get answers without revealing what she knew. From what she had seen of Plasmius, if she planned to go toe-to-toe with him she would need every advantage she could get.

            The hippo had broken free of the ice, but Phantom was ready for him, gearing up an ectoblast, when the hippo was suddenly sucked backward and away with an angry bellow. Phantom was left hanging in the air, mouth open in surprise, a ball of green energy sizzling in his fist. He stared after the hippo, a frown flickering across his face. Valerie heard a faint, “You again?” floating over the rooftops as a figure rose between them. Abruptly, she scrambled to her feet, her blood on fire. There was a ghost that _dared_ to look like _her_? But it wasn’t a ghost, she realized. A little splattered in ectogoo, and her suit was bright green, but she lacked that distorting, buzzing aura that ghosts had. Nor did this woman look exactly like her. She was slightly taller and skinnier, and black streaks raced up the side of her green suit. But Valerie would recognize that gear anywhere; she was the only one who wore it. The fire drained out of her as fast as it had appeared, and goosebumps prickled on her skin. Had she been replaced? Did Vlad know that she knew?

            For a painfully long moment Phantom and the Green Hunter stared at each other, Valerie watching them both from afar. Then Green raised a ghost thermos, and Phantom bolted. His legs disappeared into a smoky wisp beneath him and he shot off into the night. Valerie blinked, too surprised to move for a moment. She didn’t think that she had ever seen Phantom back down from a fight. Even more surprising, however, was that Green made no effort to chase him. She simply lowered her thermos and shot back off into the night. Valerie recovered her wits just in time to follow before she disappeared in between the buildings.

 

————

 

            “That took you long enough.”

            Sam’s bitingly disaffected voice cut through the blackness of the deserted warehouse and Danny drifted down until he caught sight of her and Tucker’s upturned faces, sickly in the light of ectoplasm glowing in his palm.

            “Sorry,” he said, the double echo of his ghost voice and the warehouse making the sound bounce and reverberate strangely. “That ghost may have been stupid but it packed a nasty wallop.”

            “Safely tucked away in the trusty Fenton Thermos now?” Tucker asked cheerfully as Danny landed next to them.

            “Well, no,” he admitted. “The lady in green showed up again. I can’t tell if she’s just always late to the fight or likes waiting for me to do the dirty work before catching the ghost herself.”

            “ _Again_?” Sam said. “Danny, that’s the last five ghosts you’ve fought. Who _is_ this lady?”

            “I have no idea. Let’s get down before I turn back to a human though, I feel like I could sleep for a week.” He grabbed Tucker and Sam’s hands and flew them down from the warehouse’s second floor, over the splintered remains of the staircase the hippo had smashed Danny through before knocking him outside. Eager to get further out of this darkened corner of the city, he took them several blocks back towards the residential area before he set them down and let the white rings sweep over him, taking his ghost form with them. He suddenly felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, scrapes and bruises stinging with much louder protest in his human form. He groaned and leaned into Sam.

            “Okay, let’s get you home,” she said. Tucker was fiddling forlornly with his PDA now they were under the streetlights, but it looked like the hippo had smashed it beyond repair. “Tucker, help me.”

            “D’you think she’s also… Vlad?” Danny asked, the words feeling thick and unwieldy in his mouth. He half-made a sweeping gesture with his arm, hoping that would convey the missing parts of his sentence.

            “Unless she’s some kind of tech genius with a weird fixation on Valerie, I’d say her outfit is way too similar for her not to be another one of his pet projects,” Sam said, hooking Danny’s arm over her shoulder as the three made their shambling way back towards his house.

            “One ghost hunter wasn’t enough, now he’s got to have two?” Tucker exclaimed. “Isn’t he worried they’ll find out about _him_?”

            “Vlad keeps a lower profile than I do,” Danny muttered.

            “When he’s not running for Mayor,” Sam noted. Danny had no response for that, so he just concentrated on continuing to walk and hoping he’d still have enough in him to squeeze out a transformation to fly up into his window, rather than having to sneak in the old fashioned way. “What I don’t get is, what’s he get out of it? Another pair of eyes on Danny? What’s he hoping to learn?”

            “Wish I knew,” Danny sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off to the races! Leave me a comment letting me know what you thought, if you're excited for the next installment, or anything else you'd like to say! Thanks for reading!


	2. Ignorance Is Bliss

            Valerie kept well above and behind the Green Hunter, risking losing sight of her with every turn, but she had a suspicion the woman had noticed her anyway. She sped up as she got further away, twisting and turning in abrupt and unusual directions. Valerie grit her teeth and bent lower on her board.

            Her heart sank as they made a turn toward the Mayor’s house. It loomed up in front of her, Vlad’s secrets lurking in the crevices shadowed by the moonlight. Her mind screamed blankly, a void of ideas filling every inch as she tried to come up with something, anything. For a moment, she even forgot she was supposed to be following Green, until she nearly crashed into her.

            Valerie threw herself backward, cartwheeling her arms as her hoverboard stuttered to a stop, inches from the Green Hunter’s face. She was hovering in front of Valerie, arms crossed, not even flinching at their near collision. She waited as Valerie regained her footing, inscrutable behind the mirrored black helmet. Neither of them said a word for a long moment, silence thickening between them.

            “I’ve heard of you.” Valerie stiffened. Her inflection was too flat to communicate any meaning. Was it a threat? Admiration? She took a long pause before responding, trying to work meaning out of this woman’s immovable posture.

            “I’ve got myself a bit of reputation,” she responded, allowing some pride to seep into the statement. Most people knew she was better than any other ghost hunter out there by now. “Can’t say the same for you. How come I haven’t seen you ’round here before tonight?”

            “I’m from out of town,” the woman said. It wasn’t a voice Valerie knew, she was almost certain. She squinted, as if she might be able to see through the woman’s mask and catch some clues from her face. “But I believe we have the same benefactor,” the woman continued. Her voice remained carefully neutral. Valerie reminded herself to breathe, trying to relax her muscles. Allowing herself to tense up wouldn’t help her at all if she had to fight.

            “You’ve certainly got almost the same suit,” she said. She did her best to keep aggression out of her tone. Or, at least, to a minimum. _I was here first_ , she wanted to say. _This is my town, my fighting ground, my ghosts to destroy_.

            “Let’s not beat around the bush,” the woman said, impatience edging her voice for the first time. “We’re both financed by Vlad Masters. We both hunt ghosts. Aren’t we on the same side?” She pulled her helmet off abruptly.

            She was older than Valerie, old enough to be her mother most likely, but a shine of energy in her eyes betrayed no fatigue from her time on the hoverboard. There was animation behind this woman’s eyes, an energy that demanded excitement and determination. She wore a touch of eyeliner, and her black hair came out of the helmet in a tight, practical ponytail. Valerie didn’t recognize her at all. “You can call me Green,” the woman said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

            Valerie hesitated, watching the woman’s expectant eyes from behind the safety of her mirrored visor a moment longer before she sighed and pulled off the helmet, her bushy hair springing out behind her. “They call me the Red Hunter,” she said, reluctantly shaking the woman’s hand. Green blinked in surprise.

            “You’re just a _kid_ ,” she exclaimed. Valerie clenched her jaw. That was what her dad wouldn’t stop saying whenever he found out she had been ghost hunting. She hated it. A _kid_ had lived a rich, privileged life while her father sat happily on a fortune from his security company. A _kid_ had spent $500 on a top when she could have gotten a knock-off replica for $10. A _kid_ had thought her life was over when Kwan didn’t want to take her to a high school dance. The person who had seen her life crumble to bits, worked two jobs, taken on ghosts and monsters, and nearly died every other week was _not_ a kid.

            “Doesn’t matter how old I am, I’m perfectly capable of taking down ghosts.”

            “Do your parents know you’re out here?” Valerie bit down violently on the impulse to just blast this lady into oblivion. It wouldn’t work as well on her as it did on ghosts anyway.

            “My family is none of your business,” she said tightly. Green narrowed her eyes.

            “Kid, you can get hurt doing this.”

            Valerie’s temper flared. “Don’t call me ‘kid’ ever again.” Green put her hands up in surrender. Valerie realized in surprise her hand had been creeping towards her favorite blaster and clenched it into a fist. She was way too on edge. She couldn’t confront Vlad if she was prepped to explode at the slightest provocation. Even if he did have an explanation, she wouldn’t listen like this. And if he didn’t, and he was just a dirty, scheming ghost, fighting angry was dangerous.

            “Sorry. I just don’t want it on my head if a kid gets hurt,” Green said in a placating tone. “You do work for Vlad Masters as well, don’t you? Hunting ghosts?” Did she work for Vlad Masters? Well, wasn’t that just the question of the day?

            “He’s the one who gave me all this tech, yeah,” she settled on as a response. “He failed to mention he’d also given it to someone else.” Green took her time responding, looking Valerie over. Valerie took the time to do the same. Her board looked slightly newer than hers had been before Technus’s upgrades, a bit more streamlined and aerodynamic, the weapons marginally more compact, but other than that they were practically identical. If anything, Valerie had the edge on _her_.

            “Well, I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him,” Green said. A burst of laughter escaped Valerie, unstoppable in the sudden relief that phrase gave her. A smile relaxed Green’s face. “You neither, huh? I’m much more inclined to trust someone out here getting their hands dirty with me than some creepy rich guy shut away in his manor.” Valerie smiled at her now, genuinely, although her mind was racing. If this woman was ready to be her ally over Vlad, this might be just the edge she needed to confront him. Still, it was always possible this was nothing but a trap. Why hadn’t she chased after Phantom, anyway? And why was she here, now of all times? Green was waiting for her answer. Don’t blow it, she thought.

            “So what are you doing in Amity Park?” she asked, trying to sound casual. Green flipped the thermos in her left hand, looking thoughtful.

            “Has Vlad mentioned PIG to you yet?”

            “Pig?” she repeated, confused. Green gave an embarrassed smile.

            “That’s just my name for it – he’d probably have called it the PGCF. Too much of a mouthful for me.”

            “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Valerie said flatly. Green caught the thermos one more time, and when she looked back up, something sharp glimmered in those determined eyes.

            “Why don’t I show you?”

——————

 

            Danny slumped into a chilly metal chair, stretching and wincing as his muscles protested the movement. His dad _had_ to choose today to be a hardass about doing his chores. Still, he’d learned his lesson when he’d nearly blown up the house with the ecto-filtrator: even on his worst days it paid to ensure at least a modicum of cleanliness in the lab. He just wished it could have waited until he remembered what it felt like not to be sore all over. He rubbed hands sticky with ectoplasm and old pizza grease across the knees of his jeans absently. His mind buzzed with the Green Hunter, what she could be up to, where she could have come from. “And why she can’t give me a helping hand every once in a while instead of waiting while I get pummeled into the ground and collecting ghosts only after I’ve knocked them senseless,” he grumbled to himself.

            “Dude, you need to buy, like, air freshener or something, this place stinks.” Danny flopped his head back over the top of the chair to get an upside-down view of Tucker at the top of the stairs, new PDA in one hand and pinching his nose with the other. Danny threw a hand up in an awkwardly angled wave. “Seriously, when was the last time this place had a good, thorough cleaning?” Danny groaned.

            “Don’t go saying that around my Dad, c’mon, Tuck. I do my best.” Tuck descended gingerly into the lab, staying away from what were probably permanent green stains on the wall. “Besides, it’s not like you aren’t in here almost as often as I am.”

            “My mom’s been spring cleaning. The contrast is noticeable.” Danny threw an empty Coke can at him.

            “No ghost activity today? Usually there’s at least an ectopuss or two for you to knock about after school.” Tucker picked up the Coke can with his fingertips and threw it into the bulging trashcan, though he seemed to regret having to let go of his nose to do it. Danny shrugged, scrubbing at the ring left on the table with his thumb.

            “Don’t jinx it. I was finally recovered from being electrocuted by Valerie and getting a bookcase dropped on me when a hippo decides to use me as a punching bag, and then Desiree shows up over the weekend looking like she wants to eat me alive, and I don’t even get the satisfaction of catching any of them. I am in the mood for a nice, peaceful— oh, great.” A wisp of cold air escaped his mouth. “You had to say something, didn’t you?” Tucker had the grace to look sheepish, hands at the ready over his PDA as he warily watched the portal for signs of activity. Danny grumbled his “going ghost” in irritation and snatched at his ghostly core. Cold weightlessness followed bright white lights across his body, and he was hovering a few inches above his dad’s desk chair. At least he wasn’t quite so sore in ghost form.

            For a long moment, the two of them waited, suspended and uncertain, glancing between the portal and the door. Tucker tapped the edge of his PDA nervously as Danny scanned the room. Maybe it was just the portal acting up? Or did they have an invisible ghost with them? If it was the latter, that wasn’t a power that was easy to maintain for very long, or use in conjunction with anything except intangibility. They would have to show themselves sooner or later…

            A rattle from the control panel for the portal had Tucker spinning and Danny shooting across the room fast as a blink. Something small and green scampered away from him in panic. Tingling intangibility shooting up his arm, Danny thrust a hand straight through the control panel and hauled up the tiny creature that was Skulker minus his suit by its spindly little legs. The thing twisted frantically, thrashing and biting air in Danny’s grip. “Let me go!” it shrieked, voice far shriller than normal.

            “Just let me go back to the Ghost Zone, I’ll stay out of your way! Just leave me alone, ghost child, and we’ll call it even! I’ll stop hunting you! I promise! I won’t come back! Let me go! Let me go!” Danny stared at the creature. Even if he had caught Skulker off-guard and unarmed, he expected blustery threats or rage-fueled demands for respect. Was he _begging_ Phantom to let him go?

            “Dude, why wouldn’t we send you back to the Ghost Zone? It’s where we toss you every time you come up here,” Tucker said, glancing at Danny uncertainly. Skulker stopped thrashing, glaring suspiciously between the two of them.

            “You will not feed me to the pig?” Danny opened his mouth, and then closed it again, looking back up at Tucker, but they were equally lost. Tucker typed “pig” into his PDA, more out of reflex than anything else.

            “The… pig?” he asked uncertainly, showing a picture of a fat pink animal to Skulker. “What pig? What do you mean, pig?”

            “The green one and red one were talking about the pig. They said that’s what’s been happening to the ones who haven’t come back. They were fed to a pig.” Tucker’s expression was very odd, eyebrows and mouth twitching at strange angles, as if he were simultaneously trying not to laugh and too concerned to actually find it funny.

            “What ones who haven’t come back? Who hasn’t come back where? From what?” Danny asked. His echoey voice glanced off the metal lab surfaces around him. Skulker twisted in his grip again.

            “Just open the portal and let me go back. Please.” Danny’s eyes popped. He would have thought wild horses couldn’t have dragged an actual “please” out of Skulker, no matter how grudging. Not to him.

            “We’ll let you go back as soon as you answer our questions,” Danny said firmly. “Who were you talking about?” Skulker shoved against his white-gloved fingers, but the ghost’s real body was too tiny to do anything. He shook his head violently as Danny repeated the question.

            “I don’t know what you or the other hunters are up to, or what the pig is, but I have no wish to be… eaten.” A strange shiver passed through Skulker. “I will not trouble you any further if you just _let me go_.” He beat tiny fists against Danny’s glove. Danny was about to demand answers again when Jack yelled down the stairs.

            “Danny, my boy, get up here! We’ve got something to show you!” Danny and Tucker glanced at each other. Skulker didn’t seem likely to give answers without a fair amount of prying. Danny could shove him in a thermos to question later, but if he made a peep about going in it might send his dad bounding down the stairs weapons blazing Reluctantly, Danny pressed the thumb scanner to open the Fenton portal. Skulker ripped free of his grip and darted into the whirling green vortex before Danny could say another word.

            “A pig?” he asked Tucker as the portal hissed closed. Tucker shrugged helplessly, his PDA already on the fifth page of Google results for “pig,” scrolling past obscure circus names. Danny released his ghost form and dropped back to the floor, sore muscles twinging. “What…?”

            “Dude, I am as clueless as you are. Maybe you should pay Valerie a visit?”

            “Danny!” His mom’s voice this time.

            “Coming!” he yelled back, then turned back to Tucker. “If she’s got a pig that eats ghosts then I don’t think I want to be anywhere near her as Phantom right now. And I can’t very well talk to her as my human self.” Tucker tried pointing out that the last time they had run into each other, she had helped Phantom rescue Danni, but Danny shook his head. Despite their temporary alliances, the destruction of her father’s security company seemed to have stored up enough animosity towards him to last a lifetime. Not that he could really blame her.

            “We need to figure out who this lady in green is,” Tucker said, dropping his PDA down by his side with a sigh. “If there’s some sort of super-powered ghost pig that’s eating other ghosts out there, I’d rather know about it now.”

            Danny looked at the portal, ominous metal plates clenched closed. He’d fought things a lot scarier than Skulker, but the ghost was a hard one to make turn tail and run like that. He still insisted he was hunting Phantom when Danny was now more than capable of cheerfully wiping the pavement with him every time they fought. What in the world could make him so frightened?

            Tucker was waiting for his response, he realized. He grabbed his Fenton thermos from the counter and stuffed it into the back of his belt to show his readiness, but he felt a long way away. Sometimes Danny wished he had never heard of ghosts.

 

————

 

            “DANNY!” Something very large and orange accosted Danny and Tucker the moment they reached the top of the stairs, nearly knocking them back down into the lab. Danny often thought that if he weren’t more concerned about his parents’ myriad of ghost weaponry he would fear death at his father’s hands from sheer enthusiasm. The man didn’t understand the meaning of doing anything halfway. Before he could sidestep, his dad had strong-armed him into the kitchen, leaving Tucker to trail behind with a faintly amused smile, and stood there clenching Danny to his side with one arm. His mom was seated at the kitchen table tinkering with a metal box with a suspicious number of antennae sticking out of it at inexplicable angles, which was probably the newest invention Danny would have to worry about tearing him to shreds if his parents decided to test it out at the dinner table, despite the apparent total lack of ghosts. Beside her was an unnecessarily expensive embossed envelope marred by the uneven rip along its side, no doubt another victim of his dad’s enthusiasm, and a formal-looking letter. As soon as they entered, Maddie pushed the box aside and beamed up at them.

            “Isn’t it _wonderful_?” she asked Danny.

            “Isn’t what wonderful?” he asked warily.

            “We’ve got an invitation!” Jack proclaimed. So much pride swelled his voice he might have been invited to receive a Nobel Ghost Prize. Maddie slid the letter across the table towards Danny, who caught sight of the ‘DALVCORP’ letterhead and nearly groaned aloud. Before he could get a chance to read it, Jack plowed on. “There’s a meeting of ghost hunters, only the best of the best, right here in Amity Park, and we’re going to find a way to get rid of the ghosts once and for all.”

            “Really?” Danny asked dryly, scanning over the letter. Whatever Vlad was up to, it would never involve getting rid of ghosts forever, not really. He had too many ghost cronies for that. On the other hand… A thought occurred to him. “Hey, can I come?”

            “Danny!” Maddie said, sounding shocked. “You normally don’t like hunting ghosts! Why, you run away practically every time one gets near!” Tucker turned a loud snort of laughter into a coughing fit behind him, but the irony rarely fazed Danny anymore.

            “Yeah, well, I just thought… it’d be good, uh, bonding time with you guys,” he invented on the spot, wriggling his arm out to throw across his dad’s back and return the one-armed embrace. When he glanced up, Jack’s face was beaming so brightly he almost felt bad about the lie. “You know I should probably know a little bit more about what you’re up to.”

            “You really want to spend a day in a room with a bunch of ghost hunters?” Tucker asked. He tried to make it sound off-hand, but Danny heard the strain of implied meaning in his voice. He tried to turn his head to shoot his friend an _it’s okay_ look, but his dad’s arm around his shoulder trapped him and blocked Tucker from view.

            “Of COURSE he does!” his dad boomed. “Glad to see you’re developing an interest in the family business, son! Any Fenton has a right to be at a ghost conference, no matter their experience!” Danny plastered a grin on his face, not sure he trusted himself not to laugh if he opened his mouth. So sometimes the irony achieved new heights.

            “We’ll send in a response for three, then,” Maddie replied perkily.

            “You don’t think Jazz will want to come too?” Jack asked, all puppy eagerness.

            “I am very certain Jazz will not want to go,” Danny said quickly. Actually, he was very certain that Jazz would trip over her own tongue at the worst possible moment if she did. His sister might be the smartest person he knew, but an actress would not be one of her myriad career choices. Maddie shook her head.

            “I’m afraid Danny’s right, Jack. You know how Jazz is about us and ghosts.” Jack drooped, but sprang back up again not a full second later with enough force to rattle Danny’s skeleton.

            “Well, we’ve convinced one kid, the other won’t be far behind!” he proclaimed. Danny smiled wearily. Jack Fenton’s confidence could have powered a nation.

            “Hey, Danny, Sam messaged me,” Tucker said pointedly. Craning his head around his dad’s arm, Danny caught a glimpse of his friend waving the PDA at him. With a bit of squirming, he managed to extract himself from his dad’s grip, and followed Tucker out into the hall. The moment they were out of the kitchen Tucker turned on him.

            “What are you _thinking_?” he cried. “Putting yourself in a room full of ghost hunters summoned by Vlad–”

            “I’m _thinking_ ,” Danny cut him off, “that this will be my best shot at finding out who that lady in the green suit is when she doesn’t want to… feed me to a pig, or whatever the heck is going on.” Tucker’s frown melted from anger into worry.

            “Okay, okay, I guess that _does_ make sense. But Danny, this is still too dangerous. Why not let me, or Sam, or Jazz go? What if Vlad decides to attack you? Stick his ghost hunters on you?” Danny shook his head.

            “You and Sam have no good excuse for being there, and Jazz wouldn’t know what to look for.” Tucker looked about to protest again, but Danny forestalled him. “Tuck, I _live_ with ghost hunters. I’ll be fine, I promise.”

            Tucker looked about to argue further, but his PDA interrupted him with a loud beep, and long-ingrained habit turned him to his technology before he could stop himself. “Sam’s waiting for us. _You_ can be the one to tell her you’re planning to kick over a hornet’s nest.” Danny rolled his eyes, though he grimaced as well. Sam could have found a way to chew out the Dalai Lama if she had a mind to. Danny gave her ample material to work with.

            “I’m not going to _kick_ it, I’m just going to look at it. Pure reconnaissance, I promise.” Tucker’s face was openly skeptical, but Danny gave him a good-natured shove out the door.

            His dad’s voice was booming happily from the kitchen, still extolling Danny’s desire to make this a “family outing.” Danny paused in the doorway to smile slightly. His dad battering on about ghosts, an occasional chirping comment from his mom, and the whirr-clank of a new invention in the works – what strange sounds to call home.

 

————

 

            “Are you _completely_ insane?” Sam demanded, arms folded. Tucker’s eyes flickered nervously between his friends. The two of them had almost never truly fallen out, but there had been some hurricanes to weather before they could reconcile their disagreements. Danny had his jaw set; he wasn’t going to back down. Tucker didn’t think Sam had ever backed down in her life. “How many out of control ghost hunters with technology they don’t know how to use will be there? Do you really put it past Vlad to do this on purpose to lure you in?”

            “She has a point, Danny,” Tucker broke in nervously. Danny shot him a betrayed look – as if Tucker had actually agreed with him before! – and opened his mouth to reply, but instead a gasp of icy breath escaped. Sam’s fists clenched as Danny took the opportunity to stammer a sudden too-cheery whoops-looks-like-we’ll-have-to-talk-later and shout – yelped might be the better way to describe it, Tucker thought – his signature “Going ghost!” He had transformed and phased through the wall before they had time to so much as get a word out. Tucker and Sam looked at each other and shared a deep sigh reserved for Danny’s more stubborn moments.

            “How many times have we stopped him from getting himself killed?” Sam asked.

            “Too many,” Tucker replied, punching a well-known URL into his PDA. A live news feed popped into existence on his screen. He really ought to see about the possibility of lifting some Fenton technology and programming in some form of ghost tracker.

            “Hey, Tucker,” Sam said slowly. “That green hunter is probably going to turn up again now. Valerie, too, maybe.”

            “So?”

            “So, if we can talk to her, find something out, maybe we’ll be able to talk Danny out of going to this stupid ghost conference.”

            “What d’you want to do, kidnap her?” Tucker asked, keeping one eye on the news feed.

            “I’m not going to _kidnap_ her, I just want to _talk_ to her,” Sam insisted. Tucker looked up and met her stare.

            “I don’t think that’ll go too well,” he said uncertainly. “I mean, what are we supposed to say? ‘Hey green ghost hunter lady, I know we’re just a couple of random teenagers but tell us, are you feeding ghosts to some sort of giant pig?’ Somehow I can’t imagine that getting great results.”

            “We’ll figure it out as we go. Are we going to follow Danny or not?” Tucker sent an eye scanning back over his PDA, but it remained deceptively quiet, the hottest story of the afternoon something about a used car fraud.

            “Not getting any reports of sightings yet. That’s weird, normally when there’s a ghost fight someone’s spotted it by—”

            That was when the wall of the house blew out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> Phew okay I know that was a lot of build and exposition and foreshadowing so thanks for sticking with me. Hopefully that cliffhanger whets your appetite for some action in the next chapter~
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!


	3. A Little Learning Is a Dangerous Thing

            There was half a moment, an infinitesimal amount of time, which seemed to pass slower than any other moment in Tucker’s life. Not the last few minutes of Lancer’s lecture on Herman Melville, not the interminable time spent sitting at a school computer getting Ember forced from his brain with standardized test questions, not even those horrifying moments he and Sam had spent shaking the suddenly white-haired Danny to wake up oh please God wake up after the portal went wild with him inside, had ever seemed as long as this. He watched the wall of Sam’s bedroom blow apart from the farthest corner, smoking flashes of an ectoblast showing through the brick and curling up the purple paint, he watched as the first lightweight chunk of debris flew towards him, felt it hit against his shoulder, felt capillaries burst and tear with the impact, felt a sharp corner tear through shirt and skin, watched it all like he was watching a slow-motion video, and there was absolutely no time to do anything about it. A very calm thought took over his brain: Sam and I are about to die.

            Then, hurtling so fast that even in Tucker’s slow-time he could see nothing but a black and white blur, a figure came flying through the smoke and debris towards them. He felt a hand seize the front of his shirt, fingers digging against his chest, knocking him backward, and a familiar rush of tingling ran over him, as if his entire body had suddenly gone to sleep, and that odd, weightless feeling of intangibility followed.

            From there, the world suddenly rushed back into real time and Tucker instinctively curled around himself and the hand holding his shirt as Sam’s bedroom fell to pieces around them, only vaguely aware of the seasick feeling that came from objects passing straight through him. When it stopped, Tucker found he was on his back, sinking slightly into the cracked, debris-scattered floor, Sam’s intangible outline beside him and Danny crouched over them, holding onto both for dear life. The hand against his chest trembled, fingernails digging into his skin. Almost three-quarters of Sam’s bedroom were gone, leaving it open to the air. Her bed had disappeared, presumably blasted to bits and fallen to the ground below. The floor was a ragged mess, ending a few steps from where they lay. Scattered, burning remains of posters, records, and books drifted through the air or crumbled off the edge. Tucker breathed, trying to slow his wildly pounding heart, and hesitantly reached up a gripped his friend’s arm. Danny’s head jerked up, translucent eyes shivering.

            “Dude. It’s okay. It’s over,” Tucker said. His voice shook, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “You can stop.”

            Danny continued to stare at him for a moment, then his eyes cleared slightly, and he lifted them back up to their feet before letting go. Solidity roared back into Tucker, like the heavy drop of weight when he was allowed to sit back down after gym class. Sam staggered forward, a hand clapped over her right eye. Danny, fully opaque ghost again, rushed forward and caught her, and although she shoved at him in annoyance, she continued to lean against him.

            “Sam! Sam are you okay?” he asked, trying to pull her hand away from her eye.

            “What the hell…” she groaned. He threw a glance up at the open sky, and another at Tucker, while his hands stayed busy trying to help Sam. His suit had been torn across his side, a nasty green gash showing through, and his white hair was singed and blackened with soot.

            “Danny, what…” Tucker started.

            “Look, we need to—”

            “HALFA,” a voice bellowed above them. Tucker leaped, his heart picking its pace back up and pounding against his chest so hard it was difficult to breathe. He craned his neck upward and stumbled back toward the remaining corner of Sam’s room. A squad of Walker’s goons was arrayed above them, ghost Tasers at the ready. Danny grabbed Tucker and pulled him in to support Sam, and then got between them and the ghosts, arms thrown out to either side to shield them. “You’ve broken the rules,” the ghost pronounced.

            Tucker, keeping one eye on the ghosts, stuffed his PDA into his pocket so that he could have one hand free to help hold Sam up and used the other to gently pry her hand away from her eye. He sucked in his breath as he caught sight of the stream of blood, but then breathed a sigh of relief. An awful gash had torn open across her eyebrow, but the eye itself was fine. He dug in his pockets and managed to pull out a clean tissue to press over the wound, although it soaked through in moments.

            Danny and Walker’s enforcers were in a wary standoff, though Danny seemed to be a lot less light-hearted about it than usual. Tucker scanned the crowd for Walker himself, but that signature white suit was nowhere to be seen.

            “We’ve heard the rumors about what you’re doing,” the ghost that appeared to be the leader was saying. “Come quietly and undo it, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your afterlife.”

            “I haven’t done anything except what I’ve always done – to protect my friends from people like you.” The usual sarcastic banter was wholly absent from Danny’s voice. “If this is about whatever that pig thing is, I’ve got nothing to do with it. So leave us alone, or _you’ll_ be the one to regret it.” The ghost gripped his Taser ready and it sparked wickedly. Danny drifted back so he was pressed up against Sam and Tucker. “Tuck,” he whispered. “You and Sam get out of here. I dropped the thermos down on the street somewhere, so I’ll hold these guys off until you’re in the clear and then turn invisible to catch up with you.” Tucker was about say he wasn’t going to leave Danny surrounded by this lot without even the Fenton thermos, but Sam, probably trying to say much the same, tried to shove out of his grip and nearly fell over. The floor creaked ominously underneath them. He shut his mouth, steadied Sam, and gave a nod to his friend’s pleading green eyes. Taking Sam firmly by the arm, he pulled them backwards towards the remaining corner. The door was, thankfully, in the largely undamaged portion, so with Danny drifting backward in front of them to make sure they remained covered, Tucker got them pressed up against it and fumbled for the doorknob. At that moment one of the ghosts rushed towards them. Danny seized Tucker and Sam, and Tucker felt the shock of intangibility rush through him a second time. Before he could blink, he and Sam were on the other side of the door, the buzz and crash of ectoblasts echoing behind them.

            “Gotta… help…” Sam mumbled. Tucker looked at her worriedly. It seemed that whatever had hit her had done a nasty job of it.

            “You can’t walk three steps on your own,” he said. “Let’s get you downstairs. I’ll go help Danny.” Sam grumbled something angrily under her breath, but let Tucker help her down into the basement of her immense house. He left her in the Manson’s personal movie theatre with a first aid kit beside her, a wad of bandages held over her eye, and the promise he’d be back as soon as he could. He sprinted panting out into the street, scanning for the Fenton thermos. A glance upward told him it wasn’t going well for Danny: a few ghosts were frozen to the side of the Manson Mansion, but the others were closing in around him, not giving him the opportunity to slip out and fly away invisibly. Tucker sprinted down the street. A PDA could do him no good right now.

            He could hear the beating of helicopter blades overhead. News crews were closing in. He felt his PDA buzz in his pocket with ghost alerts and ignored it. His feet pounded down the street in time with the helicopter rotors. _Beat, beat, beat_. A flash of silver caught his eye, but it was just a discarded scooter, probably abandoned by a kid taking cover from the ghosts. What if the thermos had fallen on a roof somewhere? He cast a futile glace upward, then shook his head and turned his attention back to the street. _Beat, beat, beat_. He was dully aware of a burning sensation in his shoulder. With a start he remembered that piece of debris that had gotten to him before Danny had. His skin was stiff with blood and bruising. _Beat, beat, beat_. A newspaper blowing across his path distracted him and he stumbled, but then kept running, doubling back around another block. _Beat, beat, beat._ There!

            He skidded to a halt, almost falling onto his face on the sidewalk, and snatched up the Fenton thermos that was lying discarded in someone’s doorway. The side was a little dented in, but it seemed to be in perfect working order. Breath heaving and a stitch squeezing his side, he raced towards the Mansons’ house. He felt like every pound of his feet against the pavement rattled through his entire body. The green and white blasts were just coming back into view when suddenly something zoomed over his head.

            “Run the other way, idiot! It isn’t safe here!” an all-too-familiar voice called down at him. Tucker glanced up and saw Valerie and her green double fly past him towards the ghost fight. Grimacing, he followed them – but stopped dead a moment later.

            He hadn’t really questioned what had caused the destruction of Sam’s bedroom. Things had been happening too fast for him to stop and think about it. But somewhere, tickling in the back of his brain, there had been an insistent bit of knowledge trying to reconcile itself with what was happening. Ghost attacks could be destructive, no question, but usually they had to channel it through real-world items tied to their specific powers if they wanted to impact the real world, like Technus’s technology or Undergrowth’s plants. Something like an ectoblast, while it could knock a ghost through a building, would usually fizzle out against the building itself, which was probably the only reason Amity Park was still standing. Which meant it made no sense that a group like Walker’s goons, who usually weren’t equipped to be attacking the real world, had been able to blast apart the corner of a house. Now, though, he saw what had done it. Four of the ghosts, trailing outside the rest of them, were hauling what could best be described as a ghostly canon into the air and reloading it.

            He didn’t know where they had gotten such a thing or why, nor did he care. Danny was backed into a corner, panting, smeared in ectoplasm, shooting ice and ectoblasts left and right, clearly at his wits end to keep the ghosts at bay. He would have no time, and the ghosts surrounding him were as one pulling back to allow their companions a clear shot.

            Stumbling forward, shouting something lost in the roar that was filling his own ears, Tucker fumbled frantically with the Fenton thermos. If he could catch just one of them…

            Three beams of white rings shot towards the ghosts. Tucker’s snatched one of those steadying the canon, and the other two snagged a couple of the ghosts around Danny. With howls they were dragged away from their comrades. The canon, suddenly off-balance in midair, tilted downward and fired.

 

————

 

            Green and red streaks blurred the air as Valerie and her friend veered out of the way of the smoking ectoblast. Tucker couldn’t see Danny through the explosion, but he could hear the crash and splinter of the house tearing to pieces. He must have dropped to the ground on instinct, because when the world stopped shaking around him, he was on the pavement with scraped palms and scuffed jeans, the Fenton thermos pressed against his chest. Coughing, he pulled himself up and made his way through the smoke towards the house. Rubbing at his glasses in irritation, nearly opaque with dust, he began to make out the image of a familiar white and black figure floating above the ruined skeleton of a house. He breathed a sigh of relief. A couple of Walker’s goons were floating there too, looking shell-shocked – the off-target blast seemed to have caught some of their own instead of Danny.

            Tucker’s eyes widened as he caught a better glimpse of what had actually happened to the house. The canon, intended to shoot forward at Danny, had tipped downward and sideways at the last moment, thanks to Tucker’s interference, with the result that it had ripped diagonally straight through the house, right down to the basement – the basement.

            Tucker’s heart jumped into his throat, but Danny was ahead of him. He dove through the smoking remains down into the house, and a few moments later he emerged with Sam in his arms, a clumsy bandage pasted over her right eye, clinging to Danny’s neck. Danny stopped at level of the roof and looked around wildly. He was surrounded by Walker’s goons, and Valerie, and that mysterious green hunter. News helicopters whirred overhead, bearing in close as they dared. Tucker saw him grimace, then suck in his breath.

            Tucker realized what was about to happen only moments before it did, and dropped the thermos to clap his hands to his ears. It didn’t help.

            The sound that came out of Danny was inhuman. It was a horrible, mournful cry, the sort of sound that would make Tucker believe in Hell. It rolled on and on over him, sound waves knocking him backward onto the pavement, crashing into him like a blow, over and over and over.

            He had never heard Danny actually use the ghostly wail, although he’d heard him talk about it. Hearing Danny’s evil future self use it, and that only through Clockwork’s video-like projection, had been bad enough. Actually being subjected to it, seeing it come out of Danny himself, was terrifying. Smeared with ectoplasm and dust, green eyes burning with determination, he had never seen his friend look less human.

            Those directly in front of him, which were most of the remaining ghosts, were blown back through buildings across the street, the others scattered to the side. A helicopter above them veered upward under precarious control. The Green Hunter, who had been approaching him from the side, was knocked off her board and fell toward the street. Her board caught her at the last moment, but it came up under her side, and from the way she clutched at her ribs Tucker thought the landing had not exactly been soft. Valerie had been almost straight behind him and managed to get out of the way of the blast zone.

            The helicopter that had been blown upward, though, was not regaining control. Something must have broken inside, because after the wail ended and nothing was pushing it skyward anymore, it began to spiral back downward towards one of the houses across the street. Tucker and Danny could only watch in horror as it descended, spinning around and around like a child’s toy, and buried itself into the top floor of someone’s home.

 

—————

 

            Danny felt like a giant soap bubble, quivering for survival on a blustery day. His cold ghost core was fading, white rings sparking around his middle, but he forced them down. He had to stay ghost, just a little longer, just a bit more. He could hear the cries for help from the helicopter. A flicker of red caught his eye. Something was on fire, but nothing had exploded. There was still time. He could still save them. He had to. But he had to get Sam down first. The house was creaking ominously beneath them.

            Summoning every bit of energy he had, he turned to fly Sam down to the pavement – _just get her far enough away, then the copter, then find Tucker, you can do it, just hold on_ – when an ectoblast streaked in front of him. He yanked Sam away from it, cradling her against him. _Don’t look at her_ , he thought, ears burning cold as he felt her face press against his chest. She had to be concussed; she didn’t seem to have much of a grasp on what was happening, at any rate. Good, because he never wanted to discuss this again afterwards. He turned to see Valerie, gun in hand, finger on the trigger.

            “Drop the girl, Phantom,” she said.

            Danny felt a plunge of despair. He was barely holding onto his transformation. He’d never even tried to keep it after the ghostly wail. It just took too much out of him. He couldn’t dodge Valerie. He didn’t think he even had the energy to go intangible.

            “Valerie, please,” he begged. “I’m trying to _help_.”

            “You’ve helped enough,” she threw at him. Danny felt his heart twist at the sound of the cries from the copter. There were sirens in the distance. They wouldn’t get here fast enough. “Green, get ready!” Danny started, and then realized the Green Hunter had come up on the other side of him. As he turned his head to look at her, an ectoblast caught him on the side. He was knocked sideways, down towards the street, and he lost his grip on Sam.

            He screamed for her, flailing towards her, but she was too far away. He saw the Green Hunter swoop down and catch her as he fell to the earth. Hitting the ground was too much. Frantic, he poured every last iota of energy into invisibility and threw himself into the entryway of Sam’s house. The second he was inside, white rings burst violently across his body, and Danny Fenton dropped to the ground bruised, bleeding, and utterly exhausted. He crawled over to the wall. Everything smelled like smoke and the acid tingling of ectoplasm. The house creaked and groaned around him. He leaned up against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing as deeply as he could. Valerie’s angry shouts for Phantom to show himself were easy to ignore next to the approaching sirens and the crackling of the fire from the house across the way.

            “Going ghost,” he whispered. A wisp of white curled around him, but it dissipated almost instantly. He remained a battered human. He slumped back against the wall. Something hot pricked in his eyes, and spilled over on his cheeks. He couldn’t even find the energy to wipe away the tears.

 

—————

 

            Amity Park hadn’t had headlines about ghosts this big and blaring since Pariah Dark had sucked the entire town into the Ghost Zone. Sure, the entire town got taken over by a ghost who turned them all into slaves for plants from time to time, but if they freaked out every time that happened, soon everyone in the town would suffer nervous breakdowns. They had learned to deal with their town’s eccentricities, and besides, they had their local ghost superhero to take care of it. This time, though, it was different. This time, there were rich people involved.

            The Mansons were the subject of every morning news story locally, then statewide, and then nationwide within the week. The shock of losing nearly everything they owned! The ghosts had almost never been so destructive before! (A blatant lie, but never in their neighborhood.) And to find out by seeing it happen on the _news_ – on the _news_! However did they feel about it? Then, of course, there was the trump card: their own daughter had nearly been killed and then nearly kidnapped by that awful Phantom.

            After the news crews managed to worm their way into the hospital once, the doctors had strictly prohibited access to the concussed Samantha Manson, who definitely did _not_ need a bunch of bright lights flashing in her eyes while people yelled questions at her. The result was there was just one clip of her that they news stations had to play over and over: A baffled girl in a hospital gown with some impressive white bandaging over her eye explaining that she couldn’t remember much after talking with her friends Tucker and Danny in her bedroom. Her confused insistence that Phantom hadn’t been trying to do her any harm was cut because it would complicate the narrative and, really, she could give no reason for why she said that beyond the fact that he was a local hero. He had been considered a threat less than a year ago, people were eager to point out. He had attacked the mayor. He was a thief. It seemed they had been right the first time.

            The Walshes, the Manson’s neighbors, were brought on to do interviews as well, though with slightly less frequency. They thanked their lucky stars none of them had been home when that helicopter had crashed into their house. They can’t imagine what the Mansons must be feeling, if their baby girl – a sticky mess of a candy-eater, around twelve, and clearly less than interested in the interviews – had been involved in something like that they didn’t know _what_ they would have done.

            Of Danny Fenton, found unconscious inside the house after the firemen got there, and Tucker Foley, who had managed to run outside with the intention of going for help, but seemed to have gotten confused or caught in the ghost crossfire, as he couldn’t give a very clear account of what had happened, little was said beyond the fact that everyone was grateful they got out okay.

            The real news, though, was those two mysterious ghost hunters on the hoverboards. They were the heroes of the day. They rescued our baby girl, the Mansons said over and over, they rescued her from the clutches of that dangerous ghost vigilante Phantom, and we are so lucky they were there. The news crew from the helicopter that had crashed echoed them. They would all have been dead if it hadn’t been for those two coming back over and over to pull them out. The firemen would never have gotten there in time to save everyone, but those two were on the scene as soon as they’d dealt with that Phantom.

            How did Amity Park ever think that ghost had been a hero? He was a vigilante, police said. He was far too powerful to be safe, the government ghost experts, the Guys in White, explained. He should never have been allowed to run amuck and do whatever he liked, the Mansons and the Walshes pronounced. Everyone needs to be accountable to a higher power, that’s what keeps society in order, Mayor Vlad Masters remarked. HE’S A MENACE AND I’LL TEAR HIM APART MOLECULE BY MOLECULE, local resident and ghost hunter Jack Fenton declared.

            He’s no hero, the news anchors agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now we're getting into the thick of it. Please leave a comment if you're so inclined!


	4. You Live and You Learn

            Sam was trying to apologize again.

            Of course, if he didn’t know her, it wouldn’t have sounded much like an apology. There was a lot more yelling and grumbling and swearing at her parents and the doctors and the news stations and anyone else she could think of than would be expected. Besides, he wasn’t really listening, so he mostly just caught the general tone of her voice, which was pissed off. But he heard the drops and lulls, the moments she tried to catch his attention, and she’d already done it about sixteen times. He wished she’d stop. She had nothing to apologize for.

            “Daniel Fenton, if you don’t start listening to me right now I will personally fly into the Ghost Zone and release Pariah Dark just to get your attention.”

            “Fine,” he said hollowly, turning his head to look at her. “I’m sure Valerie and that Green Hunter will be able to deal with him.” Sam ground her teeth.

            “You need to stop.”

            “You’re right about that.”

            “No, you need to stop _beating yourself up_. What happened was an accident, Danny. Tucker agrees, and he actually knows what happened better than anyone else. And I know you too well. You would NEVER hurt anyone. Accidents happen and it _wasn’t your fault_.” Danny turned his head away again. He had just lain against the wall and gone to sleep. He had known there were people out there who needed his help and he, the great and mighty Phantom, had been rescued from a hallway while people were hurt and nearly died. Because of him.

            He’d thought of a thousand ways he should have gotten out of that situation since. He should have taken his chances going invisible to get through the ghosts. He should never have flown back up into that mess of ghosts and helicopters in the first place, he should have just flown Sam straight out through the house and come back when she was safe and he had his hands free. He should have… But he hadn’t. He had panicked, he had been so focused on just getting her out so he could go back and search for Tucker that he had fallen back on a strategy he should have known better than to use where there were people who could get hurt. And now two people were in the hospital and might never come back out. Because of him.

            Meanwhile _Sam_ seemed to think she was somehow to blame for not better defending him on national television. When he’d almost gotten her killed in the first place, retreating to her place for backup when he realized there were too many for him to take on at once with nothing but a Fenton thermos. She had nothing to apologize for. All his thoughts seemed to be circular lately.

            “Sam,” he said, interrupting something, he wasn’t sure what. “Thank you for trying to be nice. Really. But I hurt people, even if it was by accident, and… that’s not okay. I can’t be okay with that.” Sam’s expression softened and she slid off the bed and came over to sit on the floor next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder.

            “I know. And that’s a good thing, Danny. I’d be concerned if you _were_ okay with it. But think about how many people you’ve saved, all the good you’ve done. You’ve saved the entire town more than once, Danny, and those people are idiots not to realize it. Of course you’re going to make mistakes, of course sometimes you can’t save everyone. And that’s awful. But it doesn’t mean you stop trying to save _anyone_.” Danny couldn’t think of a way to answer her. She didn’t get it. It wasn’t like one of Walker’s ghosts had attacked the helicopter and he hadn’t been able to help. That would have been awful, but it had happened before. This time, it was all his fault. He had done something, people got hurt. Cause and effect. Plain and simple. Actions had consequences, and his had nightmarish ones.

            “I should tell them,” he said suddenly. Sam blinked, derailed from the conversation.

            “Tell who what?”

            “That I’m Phantom. Mom and Dad, the police, the Guys in White, I don’t know. They should… they should do something about… me.” Sam was shaking her head violently but stopped suddenly, a hand pressed against her temple and her eyes squeezed shut.

            “Owwww,” she groaned. “No major head movements. Right. Ugh.” After a moment of recovery, she turned on Danny. “As for _you_ ,” she began, stabbing a finger at his chest. “You are NOT going to go turn yourself in, or whatever it is you think you’re doing. You were surrounded by enemies, defending yourself and _me_ , and if I have to pay out every last dime of my family’s fortune to get you the lawyers to prove it I will.” Danny laughed hollowly. Sam’s eyes narrowed.

            “Ghost lawyers,” he explained. Sam rolled her eyes, but looked gratified she had at least made him laugh. She leaned her head gently back against the wall, closing her eyes for a minute. Danny watched her, a blotch of black and purple amid the falsely cheerful floral print of the hotel room. The edges of the tape on the thick white bandage above her right eye were curled and picked at. She had been going stir-crazy these past couple days.

            “Look,” Sam said, her eyes still closed. “I’m not a therapist or whatever. You should talk to Jazz for that. But I’m always here for you, Danny. I’ll always be your friend. No matter what.” Danny sighed and leaned his head back against the wall alongside Sam. Maybe they could work this out. Maybe she had a point. He _had_ saved a lot of people. That had to count for something, right?

            The Mansons interrupted their reverie by throwing the door open and gliding into the room with all the self-importance that a sudden flush of television interviews and a life of wealth can provide. Seeing them sitting on the floor, Mrs. Manson swooped in and Danny found himself sitting upright in a chair and Sam back in her bed before he knew what had happened. He shifted, trying to accommodate the lingering ache in his ribs. Mrs. Manson was absorbed in a description of their latest interview, which had apparently been this morning. Danny was losing track of where he was being slandered.

            “…and the journalist had just the _most_ horribly clashing pantsuit, someone really should have told her,” she was informing Sam, who was shooting Danny looks under her mother’s arm that were growing closer and closer to a desire to murder. “Of course, I suppose if you’ve been hired by that Chin lady…” The name tickled something in the back of Danny’s brain, but Mrs. Manson had already sailed on. “Anyway, I think they were going to show some clips of it again this afternoon, turn on the TV, would you darling? I _do_ hope they have the right channel – this hotel really doesn’t have the best accommodations, we simply must get back in a house soon.” Danny stifled the urge to point out that a week in this hotel had already cost the Mansons more than the value of the Fenton’s entire house and forced his features into stiff neutrality as he turned his attention to the TV.

            “…an exclusive interview with The Groovy Gang and Scaredy Cat, a ghost hunting team that went to Amity Park last year to take part in the hunt for Phantom,” a woman in a sunny yellow blouse was saying. “But now, we take you live to a speech from Amity Park mayor Vlad Masters, who’s expected to make an announcement about tough new security measures against ghosts.” The screen cut to Vlad, at a podium outside city hall, and Danny’s carefully neutral expression quivered with strain. Whatever tenuous peace they managed to hold was built on pure necessity. The man left a taste like burnt ectoplasm in Danny’s mouth.

            “Greetings, citizens of Amity Park…” Danny tuned him out for a moment. There would be some disgustingly oily lies about how much he cared for the city before he got to anything worth learning. Sam was watching him carefully, but they couldn’t very well talk with her parents in the room. He tried to smile at her, but it probably just looked like a grimace. The Mansons seemed almost as disinterested in Vlad’s disingenuousness as he was, fluttering about the room and triple checking Sam’s head when they realized their own faces weren’t on the television.

            “Of course, this Danny Phantom has seemed to protect us from ghosts in the past,” Vlad was saying. Danny looked back at the TV, attention caught by his name. “Yet we have seen many of the same ghosts over and over after Phantom has fought them. He is clearly unable or unwilling to finish the fight in a way that will keep them away forever. If we continue to let ghosts roam wild and rely on phantasmal fisticuffs to keep them from destroying our way of life, then we have regressed into barbarism and constant war. Which is why I have been working tirelessly to develop a new solution, a better solution, one that will keep a ghost, once defeated, from ever invading our town again.” Danny and Sam shared a glance. You _could_ destroy a ghost permanently, but it was exceptionally difficult. You could blast them to bits and a week later they’d be back. You had to completely destabilize their core, melt them down like what Vlad had tried to do to Danni, before you could be certain they were gone, and the more powerful the ghost, the harder that became. There was a reason no one had even bothered to try destroying Pariah Dark completely. “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce, the Permanent Ghost Containment Facility, or PGCF.” The screen cut to a prison-like building. Danny’s eyes flicked nervously between Sam and the screen. This didn’t make sense. “This facility will allow us to imprison ghosts and keep them locked here. Unlike previous forms of ghost containment, such as Phantom’s infamous thermos, this facility will be capable of hosting thousands of ghosts for as long as necessary.

            “Now, of course, we can’t trust a ghost to cooperate with an initiative against ghosts. It’s been made clear time and again that ghosts and humans are enemies. If we wish to rid ourselves of these incessant attacks, it will need to be us, the humans, who take action. That is why I have already partnered with our two preeminent ghost hunters, who have been catching ghosts to place in the PGCF for about a week. We can assure you that it has been 100% effective. Green, Red, would you like to say a few words?”

            Like some kind of synchronized dance, Valerie and the Green Hunter swooped in on their hoverboards and landed, flanking Vlad. Mirrored helmets hid both their faces. “Drama queen,” he heard Sam mutter.

            Danny’s back burned with the memory of an ectoplasmic blast. He had never been so angry at any ghost hunter before. Most of the time it was hard to be. Being angry at a ghost hunter was like being angry at an elementary school play: they might be annoying and hopeless but by God they were trying. Even when they were dangerous, it was hard to blame them for doing what they thought was right. But if they could have just trusted him, just believed for a few minutes that his track record of protecting the town wasn’t hiding some inherently diabolical ghostly nature, if they could have just _helped_ him instead of… He couldn’t blame them for the ghostly wail. That had been his bad decision. But they had almost gotten Sam killed, and that he wasn’t sure he could forgive.

            “Well, I’m glad _someone_ is finally doing something productive about this ghost problem. When I think about how long it’s gone on… Turn off the TV, would you, dear? I think we’ve missed our interview.” Mr. Manson shut off the TV before Danny could protest. “Samantha, sweetheart, are you sure you don’t need more ice?”

            “I _need_ some peace and quiet,” Sam grumbled. “And how can you not see how biased this media is? How many times has Danny— Danny Phantom saved the town? And everyone’s ready to throw him under the bus as soon as there’s _one bad fight_ —”

            “Samantha, sweetheart, you’re right, you _do_ need peace and quiet,” Mrs. Manson interrupted. “I’m sorry baby, we shouldn’t be talking about this in front of you, I know it’s distressing. Why don’t we just make you some tea and we can talk about more relaxing things?”

            “Actually, um, Mrs. Manson? Sam and I were going to meet up with Tucker,” Danny said. “Just out in the park. Fresh air is good, right?” Mrs. Manson looked down her nose at him.

            “Fine,” she said. “But you’re to be back before six, Samantha.”

            “Absolutely,” Sam said, sending Danny a _thank you_ with her eyes.

 

————

 

            Sam grinned and punched his arm as soon as they were out of the hotel. “Dude, you are my _savior_. I’ve been trying to get out of that room since I left the hospital.”

            “Yeah, well,” Danny laughed, rubbing his arm. “You would’ve gotten out on your own sooner or later, if I know you.”

            “So where are you really going? To confront Vlad? You know that’s a stupid idea, right?” She didn’t say it as if she were outright shutting him down, for which Danny was grateful. He’d had plenty of stupid ideas that Sam had helped him pull off.

            “I don’t know that there’s another good option. If whatever this PG… ghost prison thing is gets out of hand…” He trailed off when his breath suddenly misted in front of him. He stared at it in surprise, translucent fog thinning into disappearance on the tip of his nose. It seemed fainter than normal, and was unaccompanied by the usual feeling that he had swallowed an ice cube. He stopped, looking around uncertainly. Sam, who had gone on a few steps without realizing he’d stopped, turned to look back at him, a question in her eyes. Danny shook his head slightly. It was a quiet Saturday afternoon with splotchy patches of sunlight lighting up a street corner here and there in between soft grey clouds. A few cars whizzing by, a family out with their kids, and someone Danny recognized vaguely from the grade above them heading home from a convenience store were all that occupied the street, and none of them seemed especially ghost-like.

            “Danny?” Sam asked uncertainly. “Is everything—?”

            The roar of a motorbike warned him. He leapt in front of Sam. His ghost core shivered inside him, as if it knew he was on the verge of going ghost, but he didn’t dare in the middle of the street. All he could do was glare suspiciously at the shabby, sallow figure of Johnny 13 as his bike screeched to a halt beside them, rolling up onto the sidewalk and leaving a trail of green-tinged rubber burns. His eyes darted around, searching for the ghost’s malicious Shadow, as Johnny leapt off his bike and stumbled toward them. Danny fell back a step but then stopped, balling his hands into fists. Johnny halted a few feet away. Danny frowned. Johnny’s eyes were wide and almost panicked, he seemed unsteady on his feet, and he was making no move to attack. His eyes fixed on Danny with the intensity of the desperate. “Kid,” he said, an odd, rasping edge to his voice, “I need to talk to you.”

            “Kitty kick you to the curb, Johnny?” Danny asked warily. Something was _wrong_ with Johnny. He couldn’t quite explain what he saw or how he knew, but the regular green aura that hovered ever so slightly around ghosts was watery and pale. He was so tense wiry muscles were standing out taut in his neck, yet at Danny’s casual jab he flinched so violently Danny thought he might fall over.

            “Kid, please,” he said. “You can hold an ecto-gun to my head or lock me up in that glass box in your basement if you want, so long as you listen to me.” Danny blinked. That made two ghosts in less than a week who had actually dragged out a “please” for Phantom. He shifted uncomfortably. Every instinct he’d gained fighting ghosts was screaming DANGER at him, but on the other hand… Something was going on here that he didn’t understand – something very bad.

            “What’s the matter, Johnny?” he asked warily.

            “Kitty. It’s Kitty. I… I need your help,” Johnny muttered this last, looking like every syllable pained him, but he said it all the same. He flickered oddly as he looked between Danny and Sam. “I wouldn’t ask if I had any kinda choice.”

            “I believe _that_ ,” Danny said. He looked at Sam, who was frowning at Johnny, white bandage hanging precipitously over her eye. The family across the street had stopped. The mother had drawn the kids behind her, both adults watching the ghost with wide eyes. “We shouldn’t talk here,” he decided abruptly. “Meet me in the park.” Johnny squinted at him.

            “You’ll come? This ain’t a trick?” Danny had to reassure him three more times before he roared away on his motorbike, weaving slightly at the corner before he managed the turn. Danny turned to face Sam’s frown.

            “Did I hit my head harder than I thought, or did Johnny 13 just come ask for _help_ – and you _agreed_?” she asked. Danny shrugged, trying to be nonchalant.

            “Kitty probably tried to possess someone again. It’ll be easier to have Johnny cooperating with us than not. Maybe you ought to stay back, though,” he said, white bandage glaring at him from above her eye. “If you and Tucker—” Sam was already giving him her are-you-really-that-dumb look.

            “Forget it, Danny,” she said. “Let’s go.” A convenient alley later, Phantom soared above the roofs of Amity Park, Sam hanging onto his side with practiced ease.

            They found Johnny pacing beside an overgrown bench in an unoccupied corner of the park. Danny and Sam hovered for a moment when he didn’t notice them right away. He still looked _wrong_ , though Danny didn’t quite know how to identify the problem. He flickered in a way that made Danny nauseous, his skin seemed too tight and his eyes sunken further into his sallow skin than usual. He stumbled as he paced, once almost falling before he caught himself on his motorcycle, heaving himself back to his feet laboriously and stroking the handlebars absently. He remained still for a moment, staring blankly forward, before launching back into his pacing, even more unsteadily than before.

            “He looks sick,” Sam said, startling Danny.

            “Great, don’t tell me the afterlife doesn’t even get you out of getting the flu,” Danny quipped. But she was right, he realized. That was exactly what was wrong with him. There was a simultaneous tension and slackness in his limbs, as if he were exerting all his energy just to hold himself together. His eyes seemed greener than normal, which Danny supposed was the ghost equivalent of being bloodshot. He _was_ sick. How could a ghost be sick?

            Cautious, Danny floated down to the ground a good few feet away and set Sam down. Johnny spotted them as they were coming down and turned to face them, gripping the handlebars of his bike and shivering. Danny crossed his arms and waited.

            “You came,” Johnny croaked, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “I thought you were probably just gonna take the thermos and…” He shook his head, breathed deeply, and then looked up and met Danny’s impassive eyes. When he spoke again, his voice rang hollow and hopeless. “They’ve got Kitty,” he said. “They’ve got Kitty, and I can’t get her back because they got Shadow too.” He slumped against his bike, as if those two sentences had taken everything out of him. He flickered again, this time so strongly that for a moment he almost vanished entirely. Danny and Sam glanced at each other. “Normally he… Shadow… Normally he reforms as soon as I’m out of any place too bright. At worst, an overnight in the Zone has always brought him back. But it’s been two days and…” Johnny gestured at his feet. “And without him, I can’t so much as go invisible. I might as well not be a ghost.” He flickered again.

            “Who’s ‘they’?” Danny asked, mentally storing the information about Shadow for their future fights. Johnny shook his head.

            “First I thought you were behind it, but then Skulker said you didn’t know anything about the pig. Those two on the hoverboards are the ones that caught us. We were out cruisin’ along the highway and they ambushed us.” Rage blazed alarmingly in Johnny’s eyes. Ice crackled just under Danny’s skin. “They sucked up Kitty like she was nothing. Nobody does that to my girl. They would’ve gotten me, too, but…” He shook his head, the rage fading from his eyes and leaving them bleary, green laced through the whites in spider web patterns. “I guess Shadow took the hit for me. Not like him. But the thermos pointed at me and it just sucked up Shadow. They seemed surprised too, so I hightailed it outta there to wait for Shadow to come back so I could take ’em on and get my girl back. Except… he didn’t. Don’t know why. And I don’t care. I’ll figure out Shadow if I have to, but I ain’t leaving my girl with them. They aren’t dumping ghosts back in the Zone like you do, kid. I don’t know what they’re doing, but it ain’t good. There’s a tonna rumors flying around and I don’t like any of ’em. So… So I need help. But no ghost with a brain wants to go to Amity Park right now. I don’t have anyone else to ask. Kid, please…” Johnny was leaning forward against his bike. His aura seemed to spike, burning brighter than normal. Everything about him looked volatile. Danny and Sam exchanged a look.

            “What’s the pig?” Danny asked finally. There were too many mysteries accumulating, and he was beginning to think he’d need more answers before he went to confront Vlad. Johnny shook his head impatiently.

            “No one knows, exactly, but the hunters talk about it. About it _eating_ ghosts. It’s something nasty that they’re doing to Kitty, that’s all I—” His eyes went wide and he leapt away just before an ectoblast burst against his bike.

 

————

 

            “Well, look what I found,” Valerie said, holding an ectoblaster ready. The biker ghost crouched, shivering, a few feet away from his scorched motorcycle. “I was wondering where you’d run off to. Ready to join your girlfriend?” Phantom was hanging in the air a few feet away, attacking neither but watching both of them warily. She had surprised him with her ectoblast — she had seen him leap back and upward away from it, ice bubbling in his hands before he caught himself — which was gratifying, since she didn’t often get the drop on him. Of course, had it been up to her she’d have gunned straight for the ghost boy in the first place and to hell with the biker, but Vlad had been exceptionally clear about _not_ aiming for Phantom — not yet. She was going to have that confrontation with Vlad, but she wasn’t going to do it over _Phantom_. So, steadfastly ignoring the white-haired boy, she aimed the upgraded thermos and pressed the button.

            Nothing happened.

            For a few seconds, Valerie, Phantom, and the biker all just stared at each other in surprise. Valerie clicked the button again. She was _sure_ it had been in working order just this morning. The thermos whirred halfheartedly, as if were being told to get out of bed on a Saturday morning. Cursing under her breath, Valerie stuffed it away and reached for her ectogun instead. The biker cast one forlorn look at his ruined ride and started running.

            “Oh no you don’t,” she said, flipping the safety off one-handed.

            “Valerie, _wait_!” Phantom shouted, and the blur of movement in her peripheral vision made her swing around at the last moment and shoot towards the ghost boy instead, but she misjudged her aim and the shot went wide. For half a moment, Phantom was staring directly at her. His green eyes glowed hot and angry, and she shifted backward on her board in spite of herself. Then, before she could aim again, he had sped after the biker, grabbed the other ghost by the back of his shirt, and they were suddenly both gone. She fired at the spot they had been, but the shot just pitted the ground a few feet away.

            “Danny!” a familiar voice yelped below her, and she jumped. She’d been so focused on the ghosts she hadn’t even noticed Sam Manson standing beneath her and watching the whole thing. Sam noticed her looking and her eyes went wide. “Uh, Phantom! Danny Phantom! That was Danny Phantom!” she said. Valerie frowned.

            “I know,” she grumbled. She would have thought Sam of all people wouldn’t still be a member of the Phantom hero-worship club. Was even a near-death experience not enough to change some people’s minds?

            “Right,” Sam said, sounding awkward. “Um. I—”

            “Sam!” another familiar voice called, and Valerie nearly jumped out of her skin. Danny Fenton was scrambling down the path. “Sam, uh, what… what happened?” He looked up at Valerie warily. Her chest clenched. She’d been putting this conversation off all week. She let her board drift down almost to the ground as Danny and Sam’s gazes burned holes in her suit. She watched Danny from behind the safety of her mirrored helmet, which suddenly seemed stifling. She should take it off. They knew her identity anyway, though she had never figured out exactly how or when they had discovered it. But the idea of meeting Danny’s eyes directly felt like more than she could handle.

            Round blue eyes. She still got caught by those eyes sometimes. She couldn’t, wouldn’t tell him, but there were so many little moments when she wished she hadn’t given up on what they had so easily. Stifled laughs at his muttered sarcasms in Lancer’s class, and the lazy, knowing way those eyes slid to her when he heard. The sight of him stubbornly sticking his chin out, practically daring Dash to hit him, no matter how many fading bruises he already had. The way his whole face lit up with wonder and excitement at sight of a clear, starry night sky. Something warm and fiercely affectionate still burned in her chest at the sight of him, even as she knew he deserved better than to play second fiddle to ghost hunting. Hell, his parents made him do that enough already. She pulled off her helmet.

            “Hey, Danny,” she said. He and Sam exchanged sideways glances and she grit her teeth against memories of years spent in Paulina’s orbit building friendships on paper and silk while these two cemented something unbreakable and unknowable between them. “I wanted to apologize,” she said. The hotness in her chest seemed to be clawing its way upward, towards her throat and her eyes, curled tight as a spring. “I didn’t know you were in that house. I should have checked. I don’t… You got hurt because I was careless and… I’m supposed to be the good guy. I’m really sorry, Danny, and I’m really glad you’re okay.” Danny had gone white. Sam was gripping his arm like she thought he might fall over. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed to speak.

            “It’s not your fault.” Every single word sounded like a Herculean task to get out. The hotness in her throat yanked painfully tight. She had been upset about it, but she had never thought he would actually be angry with her. Kind, fumbling Danny might be an idiot and a smartass and he might’ve taken some well-earned revenge on certain school bullies if he could have, but she’d never thought he could be so angry at her. Not for this.

            On the rare occasion that she had dropped the mask and needed someone to talk to about ghost hunting, he had always seemed to _get it_. He had sat down next to her at lunch the day after she’d taken an especially bad beating from a ghost who had a thing for golf clubs. She didn’t even know why she had started talking, but before she could stop all her weariness and frustration was pouring out of her and for the first time someone just _listened_. He seemed to know how let her rant and be sympathetic but then tell deadpan jokes to make her laugh and forget her bruises.

            One time when Vlad was out of town her equipment had blown up in her face, leaving her with a blocked-up gun and covered in green goo – she had to be rescued by _Phantom_ , which stung worse than all of it – and Danny had picked apart her weaponry with her, figuring it out piece by piece, deconstructing and cleaning and reassembling with meticulous patience. When she growled and snapped at Danny out of impatience, he threw back banter and sarcasm. When she screamed frustration about Phantom, he let her get it out. When she tried to tough it through her scrapes and bruises, he handed her ice packs and Neosporin, blue eyes blazing, daring her to refuse them. To hear anger and blame straining through his voice hit harder than any ghost ray.

            “Danny, I swear, I’m going to get that Phantom if it’s the last thing I do, and he’s going to pay for what he’s done. That ghost is–”

            “It’s not his fault either,” Sam interrupted. Valerie broke off her desperate monologue. Danny’s expression hadn’t changed, but he wasn’t meeting her eyes anymore. He made no move to either stop or encourage Sam as she went into a halting tirade. “He was just trying to help—he was trying to _protect_ me—and he’s done that a hundred times before even if you weren’t paying attention, while all you try to do is kill or capture him, and, and you _shot_ him! While he was _helping_. If you bothered to find out—”

            “Sam,” Danny finally broke in, quietly. He said nothing else, but Sam clamped her jaw shut with a groan of frustration. Valerie looked between them for a moment. Danny still refused to meet her eyes.

            “He’s dangerous, and he’s proved it,” she said quietly, needing to have the last word. “I’m sorry, Danny. I… I’ll keep you safe next time. I promise.” She let it tumble out before she could change her mind, and then yanked the helmet back over her head and flew away before she could see something else to hurt her in those blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, a healthy dose of angst and self-blame for Christmas. Perfect.
> 
> Happy Holidays and please leave a comment if you are so inclined!


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